A story of revenge
by The Wonk
Summary: Someone is murdered in the love hina universe and Keitaro swear revenge. Who did it? Why? Read to find out. Not for the feint of heart. Not meant to adhere to Love hina canon.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I do not own Love Hina in any form. This is meant merely to entertain. Ther is no profit, so don't sue me. Reviews are welcome as well as suggestions. **  
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**Chapter 1: Tragedy**

This is a story of revenge. Like any good revenge story, it begins with a tragedy.

"Naru, are you home," called out Keitaro. There was no answer. Keitaro Urishima, age 28, along with his adopted sister, Kanako, was the manager of the Hinata Inn, a nice little getaway with its own natural hot spring. It was also home to his family and friends. He had just returned home from a week long stay in America and was hoping to surprise his wife and two lovely children.

"Maybe she's with Haruka," Keitaro thought to himself. His watch indicated that it was nearly 6 pm. His family should have been home by now. He went over the day's routine in his mind. Naru goes to work around seven, leaves work around three, picks up the kids around three thirty, and arrives home around five. "That's strange," he wondered, "oh well, maybe they're out shopping."

Picking up his suitcase, Keitaro headed for his room, talking to no one in particular, "might as well go soak in the hot springs until they come back." Near the staircase, he heard something coming from upstairs. It was barely audible, but it sounded like a cough. He called out, "anyone up there?" No response. He gently placed his suitcase back to the floor, and walked up the stairs quietly, straining his ears to pick up the slightest of sounds.

This time, he was sure he heard it – a wet cough. Fear gripped him. He burst into speed, heading straight towards the sound. It was coming from Kanako's room. As he passed the corner, he saw the tattered remains of her door. There was blood on the walls. He stopped when he saw the blood. "Kanako," he whispered, hoping that he was wrong. He saw the blood trail leading into her room. "Kanako," he yelled out, running to her doorway. No response.

Kanako was lying on the floor. Her near naked body was covered in tattered remnants of clothing and blood. He slid on the ground next to her, and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Kanako," he called out again, his tears cascading down. Kanako's eyes fluttered opened, she smiled at the sight of her brother. "Brother," she whispered, "I'm glad I got to see you one last time." Keitaro's face contorted in agony and cried out, "No, Kanako, you're not going anywhere. You have to stay here with your big brother and help me run the inn."

He could feel the cold in her body creeping in, sapping his own warmth from him. He examined her body, trying to find the killing wound. He turned her around so that her body was resting against his own. She grimaced in pain, but made no protest. She wanted to feel him before the darkness settled in. He saw the laceration across her abdomen, where the liver was located. The blood oozing from the wound was black – too much had been spilt. He knew she would be dead soon. "Who did this to you," Keitaro asked through his tears.

Kanako made no reply. She smiled at him, touching his ear with her outstretched hand. Then she spoke a single word, before the strength left her vocal chords, "please." Keitaro knew what Kanako was asking of him and he would not deny her this – her final wish. He lowered his head close to hers and kissed her lips with a passion no siblings should ever share. Keitaro tried to communicate all his love and affection into the kiss as he felt the life leave his sister. An eternity passed for Keitaro before Kanako's hand slid off his ear. He broke from her lips and gazed on the pale figure before him too stunned to react. Something caught his eye; something clutched in her other hand. He reached out for it and gently pulled it from her grip. His eyes widen when he saw the photo in his hand. It was the one from their childhood. In the picture, a young girl, eyes hidden by her bangs, was smiling. An older boy dressed in a traditional elementary school uniform was next to her, giving the hand sign for peace and victory. His face was frozen for a moment. He then gulped in a massive intake of air, burning his lung to capacity, and released a cry that shook the very foundation of the ancient building.

"Dammit," Naru muttered underneath her breath, hoping her children didn't hear her little indiscretion. She hated deviations from her schedule. Shinobu heard Naru and chuckled. She had agreed to accompany her while picking up little Haruka and young Kenji from school. The train suffered some mechanical trouble, delaying their ride home by about an hour. Shinobu was the first one to see Keitaro's shoes on the shoe rack. "I think Sempai's back," she informed Naru. "He must have gotten back early to surprise us," Naru replied happily. She had missed her husband terribly. He went off to America a week ago to visit Kitsune on a business trip. Kitsune was a former resident and Naru's best friend. A year ago, Kitsune went off to America to make her fortune in exporting traditionally brewed sake to the States. Keitaro was a founding partner and main investor in the enterprise.

The quiet atmosphere was shattered by the sound of indescribable pain. Shinobu's blood froze as she thought she recognized something about the terrible roar. A name escaping from her lips, "Keitaro." Naru instinctively reached for her children. "Don't worry, Mommy's here," as she held her youngest, Haruka, in her arms. The little girl didn't like the terrifying sound. She whimpered, "Is it a monster?" Naru looked into her little girl's eyes, and replied, "No honey, monsters don't exist, but I want you to go with Shinobu to Aunt Haruka's place." Then she looked to her son, telling him with a motherly voice, "watch out for your sister, and don't let her out of your sight, okay Kenji." Kenji just nodded his head, not knowing what else to do. Shinobu wanted to protest, but Naru's stern look told her that there would be no debate. She was going to go upstairs and she wanted her children away from the house, safe. Without uttering a single word, Shinobu led the two children outside towards Haruka's tea shop, which sat at the foot of the hill where the Hina Inn sat proudly on.

The cry had not abated when Shinobu and her children had left the house. There was such agony in the man's voice – Keitaro's voice she thought. She approached the stairs, climbing it cautiously. The cry gave way to a wailing that resonated throughout the house. Recognition was instant. It was Keitaro. All thoughts of caution fled her mind, replaced with an overwhelming sense of dread. She yelled out, "Keitaro, Oh God, Keitaro, where are you?" Only the agonizing wail could be heard. She ran up the stairs towards the sound, heading towards Kanako's room.

She stopped at the door. She saw Keitaro holding on to the lifeless body of her friend and sister-in-law. Her eyes darted from the tattered remains of the door to the blood that had pooled underneath Kanako's body. Naru dropped to her knees and began to heave. She could feel the bile burning its way up her throat. She turned her head away and vomited onto the floor. The sound of retching and wailing could be heard throughout the house. When her stomach had been emptied, she slowly made her way to her husband. Hearing his wife brought Keitaro back to his senses, silencing his wail. Visibly shaken, Naru wrapped her arms around Keitaro's head, allowing her body to cover his. "What happened here, Keitaro? Who did this," she asked, her voice cracking.

Keitaro, not lifting his head to meet her gaze, whispered, "she was killed by a sword." The words had stuck her hard. She knew of only two people who wielded swords in this modern age and they were sisters. "It can't be," Naru replied, her response barely audible.

Naru felt Keitaro's arm reaching over her arm, his hand clutching onto the fabric covering her back, while his other arm coiled around Kanako's body. Naru responded by looping her arm over his shoulder, grasping for his chest, while other arm wrapped around Kanako's head. In their embrace, Keitaro spoke through clenched teeth.

"It was Motoko."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Truth behind the Truth**

Standing before a mound of freshly laid earth stood Keitaro Urashima. He watched as the sun descended below the horizon, crying for the loved one buried six feet beneath him – their final sunset together.

Naru Urashima, his wife, had stood by his side during the funeral. She watched as nearly a hundred teary eyed clansmen paid their condolences to the unofficial head of the Urashima clan – a title bequeath to him by his grandmother's passing. It broke her heart to see his countenance grow dimmer as one by one they shook his hand, offering tired platitudes and weak compliments over the floral arrangements.

After the funeral had ended and the guests departed, Keitaro and Naru stayed behind, watching the setting sun. They stood there in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Her arms were wrapped around his torso; her tears soaking into his shirt. She desperately wanted to wake up from the nightmare, but she knew that that this was no dream.

Motoko really killed Kanako.

Keitaro was distracted by the images playing in his mind – the scene of Kanako's death running like a never ending loop in some worn down film projector. The pattern of the wounds and the damage to the room revealed to him in almost graphic detail the last moments of Kanako's life. Though there was no evidence to place her there, Keitaro knew that only Motoko could have inflicted the wounds carved into his sister's body.

Kanako first encountered Motoko in the hallway. She had been carrying her laundry back to her room. They talked, though he couldn't tell for how long.

It was Kanako who struck first.

The way the clothes were strewn about told him that she had thrown the basket at her murderer, hoping she could distract her long enough to attack before Motoko could draw her sword. She was not that lucky. The lack of blood in the hallway informed him that Kanako managed to dodge most of the strikes, but Motoko eventually hit true. Kanako was sliced clean across her belly, causing her to crash into her bedroom door. The splatter pattern on the ceiling and floor told Keitaro what blow came next. Motoko had followed her lateral strike with a diagonal cut, leaving another deep gash from Kanako's right shoulder to her left hip. The mortal wound was a forward thrust to her liver, ensuring that no amount of medical assistance would save her.

It was the Urashima Tiger Strike that had killed Kanako. The Tiger Strike was developed more than four hundred years ago by Keisuke Urashima – a legendary swordsman renowned for his skill with the blade. It was designed to defeat a stronger opponent, using blinding speed to overcome insurmountable power. The technique was passed down through the generations, protecting the Urashima Clan from its enemies; a technique that Keitaro had taught Kanako's killer.

Motoko was a master swordsman of the Shinmeiryu – to kill using another school's technique would be heresy. He knew Motoko would not care. She wanted to send Keitaro a message – to make him understand.

He understood perfectly.

"Why, why did she do this?" Naru cried out, weeping into her husband's arm. Her mind franticly searched for an answer that would not come to her. They had all been friends. They laughed and cried together. How could Motoko do such a thing?

Naru could feel her husband's body tense up at the question, but it was more than that. It was as if a wall had been erected between the two. "What's wrong," she asked. Keitaro couldn't meet her gaze, the guilt growing within him. She reached out to her husband, gently bringing his face to hers: her gentle visage inviting him to open his heart to her.

Keitaro took her hand that had held his cheek, and clasped his hands around them. "It was my fault Naru, it was because of me that Kanako is dead," he stammered, struggling with the words.

The fear in his eyes sent shivers up her spine. At first, she thought he was overreacting, but the conviction in his voice had quickly dispelled that notion. "I don't understand," she began saying, before a familiar voice interrupted her.

"He is admitting his complicity Naru."

Keitaro's eyes narrowed as he instantly recognized the voice. He grabbed Naru and swung her behind him, shielding her with his body. There standing before them, dressed in a form fitting black leather outfit, was Motoko.

Motoko had changed much from their days back at the Hinata Sou. She had always been tall, but her stiletto heels allowed her to tower above most of the men in Japan. Her long, lustrous ebony hair had been cut short, and treated with highlights. But perhaps most obvious was her physique. Her chest and hips had filled out, far surpassing that of her sister's. In other words, Motoko had become the epitome of beauty.

Whereas other men would be drinking in the vision of beauty standing before him, Keitaro only saw one thing – the sword, hanging off of Motoko's hip. It was the sword that had killed his sister.

"I'll kill you!" he roared, but before Keitaro could pounce, an arrow shot past his cheek, grazing him. In the split second that it took the arrow to traverse the distance between his face and the thunking sound he heard behind him, he calculated the approximate trajectory from source to origin. Tearing off the pin that had held a flower to his lapelle, Keitaro hurled it towards the origin of the arrow shot. The scream told him that he had hit his mark. He turned towards Motoko, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Motoko's drawn sword held against Naru's throat.

"Please Motoko, stop this now, we were friends once," pleaded Naru, trying to inch away from the sharp edge of Motoko's blade. Motoko ignored her pleas. She focused only on Keitaro, her gaze never wavering from the man she loved – the man she continued to love.

"Let her go, it's me you want," Keitaro seethed, struggling to keep his rage in check. Motoko circled Naru, her blade ever pointing at her throat. She then directed her gaze at him. She recognized his stance. His shoulders were square too hers, exposing his body to attack. Though considered a defensively weak position, his stance offered him a greater range of offensive techniques – the hallmark of the Urashima style of martial arts. Motoko noticed that Keitaro's left foot had lifted slightly, shifting the weight to the ball of his foot.

Suddenly, she realized how his genial, almost scatterbrain behavior belied his lethal potential. She smirked, recognizing that she had been caught in his trap. Keitaro was the grandmaster of the Urashima style and true heir to the clan's ultimate technique: Wrath of God.

She had seen it only once before, when she was with him in the mountains of Kyoto. The technique had but one strength – inhuman speed. Though she had been unable to determine the secret behind the technique's speed, she understood the end result: the greater the acceleration of an object, the greater its force. Where her ultimate technique split boulders, his pulverized them into fine powder.

She was caught in his kill radius. She would be dead before her blade, only inches from Naru's neck, could reach its mark. "Clever," Motoko admitted to her foe, "but not clever enough." Then with the slightest nod of her head, a dozen arrows flew, encircling Keitaro with a ring of protruding shafts.

"Damn, she came in force," Keitaro thought, trying to locate his hidden enemies. "As you can tell Keitaro, I have come prepared," said Motoko, grinning at him with satisfaction.

"What do you want," he retorted, trying to stall for time. "I want you to suffer," Motoko replied simply, "to understand what it is to endure betrayal and loss."

"Don't you think he suffered enough," Naru screamed, "You killed Kanako, you desecrated our home, what more do you want?"

Motoko was taken back by her words. Yes, what did she want? She had not intended to kill Kanako that day, but things just got out of control. She had only one objective. Motoko then turned to face Naru. "Kanako died, because she wanted to protect you."


End file.
